Street Fighter: Destiny Wind
by Ichabod Crofte
Summary: Ken Masters, worried by the disappearance of his life-long friend and sparring partner, Ryu, enlists allies from the past to help unearth the truth. Street Fighter and all related entities are registered trademarks of Capcom Co., Ltd.
1. In the Mountains, There is Hope

Street Fighter: Destiny Wind   
Original Fanfiction by: Ichabod Crofte

_Chapter One: In The Mountains, There is Hope_

Mountains outside Dhangadhi   
Nepal-India borderlands   
January 3, 2001

The wheels of the jeep squealed and hissed as they grappled for purchase upon the icy slopes of the mountain road. The driver, who the foreigner had paid well, seemed fearless. Snow was falling heavily now as compared to the benign, occasional flaking they'd seen when they left the city behind them. Now they had entered a forbidding world of frost, danger, and death. And there was no turning back.

The foreigner squinted. Through the snowy fog, he could just make out the silhouette of a large, military structure built into the very rock of the precipice. As the jeep drew near the installation, the foreigner turned to the driver, and shouted over the storm.

"That's a prison!" he yelled.

"Yes sir," the Sherpa replied. "It is indeed a prison."

"You didn't tell me he was in a prison!"

"You had not asked, sir!" shouted the driver.

The foreigner was concerned. He had expected the meeting to be in a far more private and secluded environment; there were Shadowlaw spies aplenty even in these inhospitable lands.

"Well what's he done to go to jail for?" cried the foreigner.

They reached the entrance gate and the jeep drew to a stop.

"He murdered a military official," the Sherpa responded. "He has been here for nearly five years already without trial."

"Well that's not right! Without trial?" protested the foreigner.

"That is their nature, sir," the driver told him. "Even the lawmen here are without law."

"Aren't you going in?"

The Sherpa shook his head vigorously. "I would rather endure Vajrapani's holy wrath than to enter that prison," he shuddered. "You will see horrible things, American. Horrible things."

The foreigner hopped out of the jeep and drew back his hood. He ran his hand through his golden blonde hair.

"I don't believe he murdered anyone," Ken muttered. "It just doesn't fit his character."

The American turned and paid the Sherpa.

"You've been kind and helpful, and you have my thanks. God be with you."

"I will pray that both your God and Buddha are compassionate," smiled the Sherpa, shifting the jeep in reverse.

Ken took a deep breath and strode forward as two mean-looking guards approached him.

"_You're_ the American?" one of them rasped, flashing a mouth full of copper teeth.

"Do I look Nepalese to you?" Ken retorted, unfolding a wad of money from his jacket. He handed each of the two soldiers a one hundred dollar bill. "Show me where he is."

The interior of the prison was quite possibly colder than it had been outside. The rancid stench of death and decay hung in the air, causing Ken's nose to wrinkle. The corpses of dead rats dappled the urine-soaked floors of narrow corridors, dimly lit, each identical to the next. Finding his way back would require his wits be at their sharpest.

Two more guards joined the party as they descended down into the icy bowels of the mountain fortress. Ken drew his jacket tightly about him. The guard beside Ken, a skinny young man with a shaven head and a harelip, noticed Ken's discomfort.

"Unbearable at first, it seems," he whispered as if he was violating the sanctity of a secret or military code, "but easier it gets when you inhabit here for long time."

Ken nodded, barely piecing together the man's fractured English.

After what seemed like a frigid eternity, they reached the bottom of the stairwell.

"Wouldn't an elevator have been easier?" wondered Ken aloud.

"Hah!" scoffed one of the guards he'd met outside. "Where do you think you are, boy? The _Taj Mahal_?"

The other officers snickered.

As they reached the last cell, the guard gestured towards a small steel door with a tiny window slot near the bottom of it.

"He's in there," he said, pressing a nearby button upon the wall causing the mechanized latches to be drawn. "You've got ten minutes. Make them count."

The door groaned open, and Ken's eyes adjusted to the gloom. He took one of the wall torches from its sconce and entered the cell.

The silence of the chamber was so intense that it almost deafened the American. But perhaps it was a ruse. Ken strained his ears, and heard what most ordinary men would never have been able to perceive: deep, reverberant chanting. White eyes gleamed in the rear of the cell. Ken approached, and his torch flickered wanly.

_Ken Masters..._

The American thought he heard his name echoing all about him. He thrust the torch forward, but it went out. In the duskiness of the chamber, Ken made out the skeletal form of the yoga master he had come so far to meet.

"Dhalsim," he whispered.

_Yoga flame..._

They weren't really words. They were intangible thoughts that whorled about him like chasmal echoes in the dark. Instantly, his torch flared brightly, illuminating his way. There, before him, sat Dhalsim, his legs crossed, his arms outstretched, thumbs pressed to middle fingers in solemn meditation.

"You are the yoga master Dhalsim are you not?" Ken asked.

"Time reveals all that you seek," answered Dhalsim cryptically.

"I haven't got time for riddles!" the American said, urgency in his tone. "I need your help."

The flames of Ken's torch bent unnaturally. Dhalsim's white eyes gleamed with interest.

"Why should I help you, Ken Masters? We have never met, and I owe you nothing."

"That is true that we have never met," Ken countered, "and yet you already seem to know who I am."

"I merely listened to the wind," the yoga master said.

"And it is also true that you owe me nothing,"Ken went on. "But you _do_ have debts to another."

Dhalsim's colorless eyes narrowed. "I have no such debts."

Ken opened one of the pockets of his jacket. As he procured a folded piece of paper, he continued his story. "Once, many years ago, Shadowlaw soldiers came looking for you while you were in India. Among them was a nefarious boxer named Balrog. He and his associates killed your wife, Sally. But a young man from Japan defeated Balrog and saved your son, Datta. Do you remember, yoga master?"

Ken's torched dimmed.

_Ryu..._

The sound of the name rippled through Ken's mind like a perfectly round pebble being dropped into a tranquil pond.

"You said that if he ever needed your help, you would be there for him. Now, Dhalsim, is that time."

Dhalsim's narrow fingers brushed across the small skulls of the children he wore around his neck. Each skull was the memory of a child that had died in his arms of plague that had decimated his village. Hundreds had perished to its clutches. Life, Dhalsim had come to realize, is as fragile as it is sacred. Many years ago, he had swore an oath never to use his power again, fearing it would corrupt his soul as it had so many others.

Ken handed the faded letter to the yoga master. Dhalsim's arm stretched unnaturally to take it from the American. He studied it carefully as Ken filled him in on the details.

"A year ago this day, I received this letter written the night before the new millennium. It's Ryu's penmanship. In that letter, he says he was very close to finding the man that killed our master and sensei, Gouken. He wrote me that he was going to find this man, and destroy him, even if it meant the immolation of his own soul. When I trained with Gouken many years ago, he told me this day would come, the day that Ryu would seek to reconcile with the warrior spirit inside of him, but that he would not be ready to accept the answers he would find. I _must_, find Ryu, Dhalsim, before he meets his end at the hand of an opponent far more powerful than he can imagine."

The yoga master stirred uncomfortably. "That day in the market I had been talked into participating in a sparring demonstration with a sumo wrestler from Japan. I had sensed an enormous emanation of chi from somewhere in the crowd. It was like a lotus flower in winter: a sleeping power waiting to bloom into something magnificent and rare. When the soldiers attacked the village, I was preoccupied with fighting, unable to save my family. I met briefly the Japanese warrior Ryu, but I did not sense the same power as I had earlier, for I was overwhelmed with grief, unable to focus. I gave him my word that I would repay him for saving my son, and then he disappeared from my life forever.

"Not long after, I swore an oath to the great God of Fire, Aguni, that I would never again use my abilities to perpetuate the violence that is consuming our world." Dhalsim was silent for a moment as he turned deep thoughts and memories over one another in his mind. "Fate, it seems, is not without a sense of irony."

"Will you help me?" Ken asked vehemently.

"I thought I could escape destiny in this dark place," Dhalsim replied softly, "but it would appear as though my powers are ill suited for torpidity. I shall break one vow to fulfill another." He gazed up at Ken. "Let us together find the Japanese warrior, Ryu."


	2. A New Beginning

_Quick note: _Asked about where this fits into the SF canon, here's my reply: It takes place _after _SF3 and most of the events in the SF series. Though I'm trying my hardest to keep it concurrent with Capcom's storyline (even with all their retrochanging of old storylines), I'm sure I'll have to take a few liberties to make the story work. If you notice any horrible discrepancies, please let me know and I'll do my best to change it.**   
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**Street Fighter: Destiny Wind   
**Original Fanfiction by: Ichabod Crofte

_Chapter Two: A New Beginning_

Filisur, Switzerland   
Swiss Alps   
January 5, 2001

Chun-Li bent down to pet the tiny puppy that was sniffing her ankles curiously. Wagging its tale furiously, it licked her hand appreciatively. The former Interpol agent held her wide-brimmed sunhat to her head as a cold wind swept down the street.

"I'll be you're not cold," she grinned at the puppy. "This is just your sort of weather."

She nodded and thanked the old woman to whom the dog belonged, and was on her way. Chun-Li closed her eyes and sucked in the cool, crisp, alpine air. It was a great day to be alive. More than most could ever hope to be, Chun-Li was thankful to be alive.

The girl veered into the alleyway where she had left her bicycle. Fastening her shopping bags brimming with colorful, handmade bracelets to the handlebars, she sped off up the cobble streets, through a honeycomb of crimson-roofed buildings and up absurdly declivitous slopes that most grown men would avoid, her strong legs pumping the peddles of the bike effortlessly.

As she neared her small cottage on the hillside, the corners of her mouth widened into an enormous grin. There, parked upon the grass a few yards from the verandah, was a military jeep. And that could only be one person.

Chun-Li jumped off the bicycle and dashed for the house, her excitement growing with each step. The front door opened, and the muscle-bound, clean-cut figure of Guile appeared.

"GUILE!" Chun-Li squealed like a twelve year old girl. "Oh my God! I can't believe you're here! I mean after all, it's been so long and...well you know, we haven't spoken since the incident and so much has happened and there's been so little time to write and-"

"It's good to see you too, kiddo," Guile cut in as Chun-Li threw her arms around Guile's shoulders and hugged him.

"What're ya doing here?" she queried.

"You're a difficult woman to track down, Chun-Li," Guile smirked, "but apparently military intelligence still has some merit. You look good, as usual."

"Yeah, so do you Guile!" Chun-Li said, still shocked by her former comrade's sudden appearance.

"You dropped off the face of the planet," Guile went on. "You didn't think I wouldn't try and find out where you'd gone, did you?"

Chun-Li shook her head in disbelief. "Wow...Guile. Incredible."

Guile nodded, waiting for the amazement to wear off.

"Yeah, it was complicated," Chun-Li said, almost sadly.

"Wanna tell me about it?" Guile asked.

"Of course," replied the former Interpol agent. "C'mon inside."

Guile found it extremely difficult to suppress a silly smile as he looked around Chun-Li's cottage. This was a city girl living in a tiny, quaint, two-room cabana in the middle of the Swiss Alps. _A city rat living in a farmhouse_, he chuckled to himself. Chun-Li picked up on his astonishment easily.

"I know what you're thinking," Chun-Li said, placing the shopping bags she'd brought in from outside on the mahogany table in the center of the room. She crossed the room and threw open all of the shutters as she spoke. "Chun-Li: city rat gone field mouse."

Guile blanched. "Er...that's _exactly_ what I was thinking," he admitted, running a hand through his hair which quickly (and impossibly) returned to its irregular shape.

"I know," the girl smiled. "We've always been on the same wavelength, you and I, haven't we?" she giggled. "But you know, you can get used to this life. It's quiet, tranquil, and unhurried."

"Sleepy, boring and dull," Guile added. "It must have been something massive that drove you all the way out here."

Chun-Li sighed, looking almost teary-eyed. "You remember that dojo I started after I rescued that girl from Urien?"

Guile nodded.

"Even after you and I destroyed the core of Shadowlaw, there were still Shadowlaw cells functioning completely independently of Bison. When I was away giving a presentation for Interpol, they came and destroyed the dojo. Some of the bodies were never found."

Chun-Li began to sob. "I...I killed them, Guile... They came for me, and they killed those children instead."

Guile took Chun-Li into his arms and held her close to him. "It's like I told you, Chun. It never really ends. Evil sleeps, but it never dies. That's why I keep on fighting. As long as I've got my tags and a breath in my body, I'll put my fists to good use."

The Chinese girl sank down into one of the chairs. "I...I couldn't do it anymore Guile. I couldn't put those who were close to me in danger. So, with the cooperation of Interpol, I faked my own death, and came to live my life quietly here."

"Quietly?" Guile muttered, his eyes scanning across the laptop computers, dossiers, envelopes, printouts, and documents that were sprawled across her desks. "Looks like you've been quite the busy _ex _I.C.P.O. agent." He walked over to one of the trestles. Upon it were various passports, wads of assorted international currency, and picture identification cards. Beneath it was a suitcase. "Going somewhere?" asked the military officer who was now a major.

Chun-Li's eyes tracked to Guile's discovery. "I guess I never really gave up the hope that someday I would find the real mastermind behind Shadowlaw," she said quietly, half to herself. "I had always thought it would end with Bison. But Bison was only the beginning."

"What do you know?" said Guile sternly.

"Some old buddies of mine at Interpol in charge of Asiatic crime had been monitoring Thai chat rooms on the internet since the new millennium. They eventually encountered something they thought was particularly unusual."

"What did they find?"

"Recipes for spicy Thai cuisine."

"So?"

"The numbers in the recipes were sequences of prime numbers. One of I.C.P.O.'s advanced computer algorithms for code breaking revealed that it was actually some sort of Fibonacci morse code."

"In English for those who don't speak cyber geek, Chun-Li."

"When the numbers were unscrambled," the ex Interpol agent went on determinedly, "they were times, dates, and locations, and one high level order to withdraw $1.5 billion from a bank account. Agents in the field report that both Balrog _and _Vega have both popped up on the grid in Thailand. Coincidentally, a week after that report, an offshore bank account in Grand Cayman reported a sizeable withdrawal of exactly $1.5 billion dollars. We found that the account belonged to a company that we had long suspected was a Shadowlaw front. The account had remained dormant since Bison was destroyed."

Guile glared at Chun-Li. "You're not seriously thinking about going after these guys again, are you?"

A cold wind blew through the windows, howling through the small atrium of the cottage. The candles flickered.

"Shadowlaw...Bison...took everything I ever had," said Chun-Li. "Everything I ever loved or cared for was destroyed by Bison or his goons. I had given up on trying to finish them off, Guile, when all I could find were dead ends. But this is a fresh start. A new beginning."

Guile walked over to Chun-Li, resting his heavy hands upon her shoulders. "You can't do this, kiddo," he said. "I can't let you. You've had too many close calls with these Shadowlaw creeps."

"Yet here I am. Alive."

"For now," Guile countered darkly. "Besides, you've been in these mountains for months. You haven't been training at all. You know Shadowlaw associates sharpen their skills relentlessly."

Chun-Li pushed Guile's hands aside with a swift swipe of her leg.

"I'm going," resolved Chun-Li. "And you're not going to stop me."

"You act as if you have nothing to loose," Guile shot back.

"Have I?" retorted the other.

Guile looked hurt. But it was clear there was little he could say or do to prevent Chun-Li from going once more into the east on what was clearly a suicidal blood hunt. But Guile wasn't ready to loose Chun-Li. Not again.

"Then I'm going with you," he said finally.

"Don't be stupid," said Chun-Li, walking over to the table cluttered with all of her research. She began to pack her bags.

"Look, Chun-Li," said Guile firmly. "If this personal vendetta of yours is really what you want, you're gonna need my help. You can't take all of Shadowlaw's soldiers solo. You know that. I know you've lost a lot of loved ones to Bison, but so have I. If we go after Shadowlaw, we go after them together."

Chun-Li's shoulders sagged as she breathed a long sigh. She turned around, a mischievous grin on her face. Guile felt dread stir in the pit of his stomach.

"Fight ya for it?" Chun-Li quipped.

Guile bent down and tightened his shoelaces.

"You're on, kiddo!" he smirked.


	3. Old Blood

**Street Fighter: Destiny Wind**   
Original Fanfiction by: Ichabod Crofte

_Chapter Three: Old Blood_

Bangkok, Thailand   
Chinese Consulate   
January 6, 2001

Simon Kwok was a twenty five year old field operative for Interpol's east Asian department. His cover was that he was a college student studying abroad to pursue a career in the restoration of ancient and historical artifacts. Though his official assignment was to hack government mainframes in Thailand to expose corrupt officials, for the last five years, he had secretly been working on a shadow ops project codenamed _Lyra_. Though Interpol did not officially endorse or recognize the project's existence, it was whispered throughout the upper echelons of I.C.P.O. that measures were being taken to locate, identify, and eradicate the remaining cells of Shadowlaw following its destruction after the catastrophic battle with M. Bison.

Having broken almost every cipher that lead to the downfall of Shadowlaw, Simon Kwok was an invaluable asset to Lyra. He'd even cleverly named the project after the constellation of which the star Vega was a member. Vega had always been one of Interpol's priority targets, but when Shadowlaw crumbled, all efforts to apprehend him were terminated as were the rest of the attempts to chase down the routed members of the crime ring.

Simon Kwok's younger sister, Lai, who had been studying under Chun-Li's tutelage, had been murdered by Shadowlaw's associates. He was clearly motivated by an intense hatred for the diabolical camarilla that had been responsible (under Bison) for the slaughter of innocent thousands. Now he was _so _close to unearthing the final scheme that would put the crime lords of Shadowlaw in the public spotlight once more.

Leaving the consulate for the day, Simon took a cab to his loft apartment in downtown Bangkok. The red, phosphorous glow of the neon street signs and advertisements pulsed like blood through capillaries. Rain crashed to the uneven streets mercilessly, pounding the undulating tide of umbrellas that snaked up and down the narrow alleys and roads like a harlequin serpent. The baleful growl of thunder crescendoed to an earsplitting crackle in the yellow-green skies above. Simon, exhausted after a long day's work, dozed off in the cab to the euphoric symphony of tempestuous dissonance.

A half an hour later, he reached his apartment building. Simon awoke as if on cue and paid the driver. He took the elevator to the twelfth floor and went to his room.

"Time to shower," he sighed to himself as he locked the deadbolts behind him.

Simon slipped off his suit jacket and tossed it carelessly upon the arm of the leather couch in the living room. On the glass table just beyond the island of stainless steel, black marble and glass that comprised the ultramodern apartment kitchen, was Simon's stay-at-home laptop computer. As he passed, Simon hit the power key. The machine acknowledged Simon's command with a bleep and a duteous hum. Kwok made for the shower.

As Simon closed the door to the bathroom, a few friendly computer chirps indicated that he had new email. The subject line read:

_**URGENT**_

The email itself read simply:

_Cover conceivably compromised   
Commence immediate egression   
Rendezvous with contracted agents at designated safe house   
Priority alpha_

The hot water of the shower felt like the hands of angels were personally massaging his skin. It had just been one of those long, rainy days. Faulty intelligence had been responsible for an important mission going to complete shit. And of course, tomorrow, the agency would be wondering what had become of hundreds of thousands of dollars had disappeared from the special projects account. Someone would have to answer. Heads were definitely going to turn. The problem was that Simon was the only one who could really explain what was going on without getting his tongue cut out and blowing the thing wide open. There were reputations to protect and assets to conceal. The blame game had started up again.

So he'd have to write a report tonight after his shower, and the vaguer he could be, the better it was for everyone. Now, Interpol was damn well aware that shadow ops projects were going on all the time without the proper authority and processes being accounted for, and it was for that reason that everyone high enough to know about it turned a blind eye to the special projects account. It was routine "don't ask don't tell." But when something went wrong, like it had today, and there was a trail of collateral damage from Bangkok to Shanghai, the agency would have to cover its ass from here to kingdom come. And to do that, the who's who of I.C.P.O. would demand they know what was going on. And Simon knew he couldn't allow that for two reasons. First, all Shadowlaw investigations had been terminated for good and the agency had officially forbade its departments from pursuing the matter further. Secondly, for some time now, certain members of _Lyra _had suspected Shadowlaw still had Interpol agents on their payroll. It was a Machiavellian shadow-dance of lies, cover-ups and deception.

"Five agents dead," Simon muttered irritably as he wrapped the towel around his waist. "Three agents missing, half a million dollars in payoffs, technology and information acquisition gone with nothing to show for it, and the department's requisitioning all data files and tapes from the surveillance crews." He left the bathroom, drip-drying. "This is pretty damn bad."

A cold draft caused a chill to race up Simon's spine. He gazed across the dim room to where the sliding glass door to his balcony had been blown wide open.

"What the hell?" mumbled the young hacker as he crossed the room, tossing the towel for a pair of shorts. "How on earth did you get open?"

Simon walked out onto the balustrade. He looked up into the dark, stormy sky. The evening showers poured down upon him, causing him to squint. Next he bent over the banister, peering down the twelve stories below him. Far below, like a swarm of glowing insects, cars slowly persisted through rush hour traffic in noiseless reproach of ill-devised transit networks.

_Odd, Simon thought, returning inside and throwing the latch to the door closed. The computer continued to beep urgently as Simon walked back across the room. As he passed his bed, he froze. He blanched, his head turning with the alacrity of a tortoise. His eyes locked to the gleaming object sitting atop the comforters._

A white mask, austere in its simplicity, the smoothness of its surface interrupted only by two symmetrical hollows for eyes to peer through and garnished with a simple, lavender decoration on the left cheek. Simon backed away slowly, wordlessly, to the desk with his laptop. Finding the leather holster cradling his trusty Walther P22, he quickly procured the gun and looked around his apartment.

His arms trembling, he advanced down the steps into the living room, eyes scanning the shadows for any signs of movement. The computer continued to buzz loudly.

Simon worked his way over to the laptop. Smart enough not to put the gun down, with his off hand, he turned the machine to face him. He turned, quickly reading the message:

_Cover conceivably compromised   
Commence immediate egression   
Rendezvous with contracted agents at designated safe house   
Priority alpha_

"Oh shit..." Simon whispered. Suddenly, from behind him, Simon heard soft, maniacal sniggering.

"Vega..." said Kwok, whirling around just quickly enough to witness the flash of the steel claws before they buried themselves in his flesh.

* * *

Guile peered out the window of the airplane. The silver moonlight bathed the clouds in a sea of ethereal sparkles. The lagoon of mist and stars was a beautiful sight to behold. It reminded him of the days when he used to fly the F-16s back at the base. He missed the thrill of soaring far above humanity. The feeling that raced through one's veins was magnificent; soaring above the world in tranquil silence, one could feel totally free. Guile thought of his old comrade, Charlie.

Charlie was the one man that had ever taught Guile had to really see beyond himself. To Guile, Charlie was a real hero. The sort of hero whose very name is a beacon of humanity's triumph over evil, a genuine paragon of virtue. Charlie had taught Guile everything he knew--how to channel his ki, how to focus his mind to resist the soul searing effects of the psycho power, and how to trust his heart. And he had lost him, like he'd lost so many others. _Someday_, Guile thought to himself, _I'll find your dogtags, old friend. Someday, you and I will be free together. But not yet._

Passing through a bit of atmospheric turbulence, Guile was jolted back to the present. The lights in the cabin flickered.

"That was something, wasn't it Chun-Li?" Guile chuckled. "Chun?"

The ex-air force pilot glanced over at the girl who snored raucously beside him. Guile grinned. For many years, Guile and Chun-Li had done so much together. They'd stuck it out by each others' sides through thick and thin, but only in the last few years had Guile begun to feel differently in her company. In the past, she'd drove him nuts with her steadfastness and bullheadedness. She'd just been a tough, battle-hardened Interpol warrior to him, a good friend, and little more. But now, his eyes beheld her with newfound adoration. The soft lines of her face, the plum-colored eye shadow that made her eyes sparkle day and night, the gently sloping curves of a body made only more beautiful in its attempt to repulse an immaculate femininity that flourished beneath its hardened exterior. Guile began to wonder as he thought more and more about Chun-Li on a day-to-day basis just how deep his affections for the girl really went. And Guile hated himself for it. He thought of his own, beautiful wife, Jane. He loved her deeply, but not with the same forbidden ardor and admiration he cherished for Chun-Li. This love was an exotic flower that had blossomed secretly within him over the passing of many long years.

Without warning, Chun-Li's head nodded and tipped, falling to rest upon Guile's shoulder. Dreaming, Chun-Li snuggled against him, smiling broadly. Guile flushed an uncharted shade of crimson.

"Um, uh, hey," he stuttered.

One of the flight attendants strolled by and grinned warmly at them.

"A remarkable thing," said the stewardess.

"W-what is?" Guile choked out.

"Love," she answered, before continuing down the aisle.

"B-b-but it's not...we aren't...I don't..." protested the major, beads of sweat forming upon his temple.

_We will be landing in ten minutes, an electronic voice announced over the intercom system._

Guile sighed. "Here we go again," he thought aloud. "Back where it all began. Where old blood will be spilt anew."

The plane began its initial descent into Bangkok.


	4. The Man in the Shadow

**Street Fighter: Destiny Wind**   
Original Fanfiction by: Ichabod Crofte

_Chapter Four: The Man in the Shadow_

Bangkok, Thailand   
Phyathai Hospital   
January 7, 2001

"How is he?" Chun-Li asked between muffled sobs.

"He's stable," admitted the elderly doctor. "He's been in surgery all night long. If it hadn't been for you miss, he probably wouldn't have made it."

"What do you mean 'if it hadn't been for me'?" said Chun-Li, wiping her eyes.

"You are Chun-Li of Interpol are you not?" the doctor inquired. Chun-Li simply nodded in agreement. "It was your name and affiliation that was written under the column of the person responsible for bringing him to the hospital."

The Interpol agent simply stared, her face blank. At length, the disbelief wore off. "But I only just arrived last night," she muttered.

Guile took Chun-Li's arm and drew her close to him.

"It's a warning," he whispered in her ear. "Shadowlaw must have someone on the inside and they knew you were coming to Thailand. They're warning you not to meddle in Shadowlaw affairs."

"But what's that got to do with my name on the sign in sheet?" argued Chun-Li impatiently.

"They wanted to make sure you got the message. They could have killed the hacker if they'd wanted to, but they didn't. Technically, if you look at it the way those creeps do, you owe them for sparing his life."

Chun-Li spat. "Oh I owe them alright," she snarled. "I owe them a swift kick in the head!"

The doctor cleared his throat. "If you would like to see him, you may. But he's in a coma, so he'll not be able to hear anything you say to him."

Chun-Li looked at Guile, and the major nodded. "You go ahead," he consented. "I'll be right outside."

The doctor opened the door for Chun-Li as she stepped into a dimly lit chamber. She could hear the monotonous droning and bleeping of the plethora of life support devices that worked diligently to tether Simon Kwok to his mortal coil.

"It's not a pretty sight," the doctor cautioned, his thick bushy eyebrows twitching anxiously.

"Leave me," Chun-Li commanded sternly.

She didn't need to say it twice; the door closed quickly behind her. Chun-Li crossed the room and knelt by the bed where the body of Simon lay, embalmed in bloody rags, tissues and heat packs. His face was completely enshrouded by gauze stained with cruor. Tears began to cascade down Chun-Li's cheeks again. She gently stroked Simon's raven-black hair, remembering how she used to ruffle it playfully when he was a teenager studying tai chi at her father's dojo. In her other hand she took his, curling her fingers around his languid digits.

"I'm sorry," she said quietly. "I'm sorry that I could not protect your sister, and I'm sorry that I couldn't protect you."

Chun-Li began to weep. Her tears darkened the bloodstains upon the dressings. "You've taken us so far with your genius, your creativity and your passion. I will see that you have your vengeance..." Chun-Li clenched her fists tightly. "In this life or the next."

Guile, engirdled by a throng of doctors and physicians, was overjoyed to finally see the door to Simon's hospital room open.

"Please, excuse me," he bid them farewell as he fell in step with the Interpol agent. "Who besides you, me and Simon knew you were flying into Thailand?"

Chun-Li thought to herself. "Very few people," she pondered. "The flight wasn't even arranged by I.C.P.O. Simon booked it himself."

"Maybe someone was fishing the grid," wondered Guile.

"What does that mean?" Chun-Li asked.

"It's something I learned from a few black ops buddies of mine back when I was flying F-100s in Vietnam with the 136th. These guys would travel all over the world but they could find each other at any time by tapping into the electronic passport registrars. They used to call it 'fishing the grid'."

"I thought you didn't speak 'cyber geek'," smirked the Interpol agent.

"I don't," Guile retorted. "Did I sound convincing?"

"For a minute there, yeah actually," laughed Chun-Li.

"But seriously, Chun," Guile went on. "It's a possibility. If these guys were doing it thirty years ago, I'm sure today it's much easier. If Shadowlaw red-flagged your passport, they could have easily found out what you were up to."

"It's a good theory," considered the other, "but it doesn't work."

"Why not?" Guile asked dubiously, wanting to feel proud of his suggestion just a little longer.

"Because Simon sent me fake passports and he hacked the registrars just in case Shadowlaw was using some sort of graphical identity harmonization device."

"I have no idea what the hell you just said," chuckled Guile as the two walked into the elevator.

"It's okay," said Chun-Li. "I didn't expect you to."

Guile frowned. "Hey, you know, it's not like I'm stupid or anything," he began to say just as the elevator doors closed.

Undisclosed Location   
New Shadowlaw Headquarters   
January 7, 2001

The steel drawbars slid back and the triple-plated chrome door hissed open. The slender, classically-built figure of the Spanish matador, Vega, strode into the large circular antechamber. It was completely dark except for the eerie blue lighting upon the floor, illuminating the way to the center dais where a massive array of enormous computers were broadcasting hundreds of channels, data streams, and feeds of information simultaneously. Vega dropped to one knee and bowed as he neared the dais.

"My lord," he said.

The man completely bathed in shadow turned, colorless eyes gleaming through the blackness.

"Is it done?"

"Of course, my lord," Vega answered proudly. "Just as you fancied it."

"And the data?"

"The little bastard nuked his hard drive before I could download the information."

The man in shadow snorted. "That is of no consequence. How is Balrog doing on his assignment?"

"He claims he's making significant progress," Vega scowled. "But my lord, how can you trust an insensate philistine like him? He is not worldly enough to appreciate the beauty of your chaotic artistry, my lord."

"And that is why I choose him, Vega. He is indeed an unimaginative rube, but his incapacity to understand the true nature of power makes him loyal. He served my pupil well, as I expect he will serve me."

"Of course, my lord," Vega consented.

"The pieces have begun to fall into place," continued the man in shadow, turning back to face the monitors. "The fighters will once more be assembled upon the stage of destiny. We shall laugh in the face of the Gods as the new millennium will belong to the true warrior and his spirit."

The man in shadow began to laugh wickedly, his voice echoing all about the titanic atrium. Vega felt a chill race up his spine, feeling the nauseating nexus of power in the room being filled with the psychotic fury of his new master.

"My lord," Vega said at length. "What should I do about Chun-Li?" he licked his lips. "Can I play with her, my lord? Savor the delectable sweetness of her warm blood upon my lips?"

"In time, you shall have your rematch against the Interpol agent," the man in shadow mused, "however not yet. She must be tested, readied for what is to come. My pupil crushed her once almost effortlessly. Clearly, her own innate ki has not fully awakened." The man in shadow grinded his teeth. "Send the samurai."

"But my lord," protested Vega worriedly. "Perhaps we might send someone a bit less insane? I mean, he might kill her and-"

_**DO IT!!**_

Vega crumpled to the floor in agony. He felt as though his skull had split in two, his soul seared with the diabolic energy he had only known one other to possess. He wretched and vomited all over the dais. At last, he stood, wiping his mouth.

"Yes my lord. It shall be done."

* * *

_A quick word from the author..._

Firstly, I'd like to thank everyone for their advice and support on this story so far. I take every suggestion and criticism to heart to try to make this story better, more appealing and exciting for you to read. I hope you will all continue to read the rest of this story as it unfolds.

Secondly, this _is _a Street Fighter fiction, but there hasn't really been too much fighting yet. Thanks for bearing with me while I set the stage for everything. There _will _be an actual street fight in the next chapter, so keep reading!

Lastly, I do my best to return crits and reviews respectfully. If I've somehow missed reading something you've written, just notify me by email or in your next review as a p.s. telling me which story of yours to check out.

Peace,

I.Cro


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